


Breathe For Me: A Collection

by reellifejaneway



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Floor Sex, Fluff and Smut, Impregnation, Kink Meme, Library Sex, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy Kink, Reunion Sex, Scratching, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spoilers, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Verbal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their touches were fire, promises of adoration seared into their skin with every desperate kiss. Some nights, a promise of words would be enough. But on these nights, only passion would suffice.</p><p>A collection of NSFW drabbles written in response to ask-box prompts. Based on <a href="http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt">the Kink Prompt</a> post from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Weapon Of Choice (Cullen x Trevelyan)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosfay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosfay/gifts), [gaurdian9sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaurdian9sunshine/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> Prompt? "Coming without being touched" for Cullen & Trevelyan.  
> #90 from [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

She couldn’t breathe - not when she was pinned between a wall and a solid mass of  _man_ . He was ferocious tonight. They were still clothed, having sneaked out of the party early to deal with more urgent matters. Pressed up into a dark corner somewhere in Halamshiral’s empty guest quarters, Kiana gasped out a cry, her fingers clawing for purchase against those wonderfully solid shoulders.

_Cullen_ _’s_ strong _,_ flexing shoulders.

His arms were braced firmly against the stone wall, eyes drilling into hers with a golden intensity that set her insides aflame. Trevelyan could barely move let alone draw breath for the way he was rolling his hips into her - nor for the heat of his mouth, angled perfectly over hers.

“Cullen—” She sank into his kiss, whimpering against his lips.

He broke from her momentarily. A wicked smile creased those ruddy cheeks, silent laughter shimmering in the depths of his lust-darkened pupils. “Tell me,” Cullen rasped, nuzzling into her bare neck and nipping at her ear. “Tell me what you need from me, Inquisitor.”

Kiana’s pale eyes flew open in surprise. He _knew_ what his voice did to her, and tonight he was using it at every opportunity. Already she was writhing beneath his kisses, his growls of sweet, sweet torment - his promises of delights as yet untasted. His fingers had barely even dipped beneath her waist and still sparks shot through her, ecstasy searing white sparks along the edges of her vision. The question was an enticing one. Already she had begged him to touch her — but he refused to satisfy her. Instead he seemed to be playing some sort of cruel game. Words were his weapon of choice tonight, and with each new whispered promise, Kiana’s endurance faltered just a little. She wondered if it was possible to climax from Cullen’s voice alone…

“Order me to stop,” her commander whispered, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her jaw. “Tell me it’s too much — that this isn’t _right_ …”

“Cullen—” Trevelyan’s lashes fluttered, her breath coming hard as she scrabbled to maintain her hold on his neck. He was grinding his body against hers, his hard length pressing into the cradle of her hips and grinding there… She shuddered at the unexpected thrill that shot through her core. He hadn’t even begun touching her and, Andraste preserve her, she was consumed with want. “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

The golden-haired Commander groaned against her skin. “By the Maker, you are perfection.”

She hissed, words failing her in the heat of her need. Kiana twisted her fingers beneath the unfastened jacket, balling in his linen shirt and pulling that ever-so wicked mouth back to hers. Her thighs slipped against each other beneath her dress, slick from the intensity of her arousal.

And that was when it began - a slow burning deep within her. It coiled up from her core, heat surging through her body with each kiss, each desperate touch of his fingers, every delectable moan. Kiana felt her knees begin to shake. Whimpering his name between kisses, she felt the tension within her reach its pinnacle - and snap. She came undone right there. Trevelyan bucked against him, giving into the sensations that were washing over her and gasping his name into his mouth. Cullen greedily swallowed her cries, cupping her cheek as she sagged, spent.

“Oh…” Kiana’s head fell back against his waiting arm, a dazed sigh passing through swollen lips. After a moment, she confessed, “I didn’t even know that could happen.”

Cullen chuckled darkly. Even in the shadows of their obscured corner, Kiana could see the want that lingered in his gaze.

“The night is still young, Inquisitor.” He swept her up in his arms, carrying her with delightful ease. “And we haven’t even reached our quarters yet.”


	2. Desperate Praise (Alistair x Warden)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> Your take on the impregnation kink with either Alistair or Cullen as the father-to-be.  
> #72 - Children (pregnancy) on the [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

She was slowly destroying him. Every sound, every touch, every brush of her lips on his.

For so long he had thought that happiness was out of his reach, but now? Now he _wanted_ to believe that she had found a cure. He wanted to believe that they could at last fulfil their dream of having a baby of their own - a future as a family.

“Alistair…” her wanton groan drew him from his brief reverie.

He pressed himself up on his forearms, a smile breaking through at the sight of her beneath him. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, bending to lay a kiss over her heart. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long…”

His breath hitched in his throat. They both knew how hard he had prayed. Nearly every single time they had made love, Alistair had silently begged the Maker for his seed to grow within her. And now…?

“So close…” She stroked his stubbled chin with shaking fingers. “I want this, Alistair. Please.”

His eyes melted into her gaze, vision blurred and drunk on their lovemaking. Their bodies fell back into a familiar rhythm - one that had not been lost nor forgotten, not even after spending so long apart. Alistair felt joy rush through him as she crested. Gripping her hips, he pulled her closer and sinking deep within her again and again. His broken voice rose in desperate praise as at last his orgasm gripped him.

Alistair spent himself within his beloved, a breathless prayer of adoration falling from his lips as he collapsed by her side. The warden kissed him tenderly and shifted to curl against his chest. They lay in blissful silence. Alistair drew his calloused fingertips up her sweat-slicked back, relishing the faint sighs and shudders that he could still draw from his exhausted lover.

But in his mind, all Alistair could envision was how blissful she would look when he kissed her swollen belly for the first time.


	3. A Moment Of Bliss (Fenris x FemHawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaosfay said:  
> Hawke x Fenris, blowjob, dick worship, and orgasm denial. Lady Hawke, please.  
> #47, #83 and #246 from [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

Fenris clenched his teeth, panting for air between ragged moans. Hawke was unravelling his facade of fine control with every stroke of her clever tongue. Fisting the sheets under his palms was barely enough to keep him grounded — all at once he felt as though he were spiralling toward the edge of a chasm, chasing that ethereal sensation that only she gave him.

Marian’s dark lashes masked her eyes from him, but only for a moment. A flash of blue and a lascivious smirk greeted Fenris when he raised his head from the midst of her luxurious silk pillows. Hawke released his twitching length from her mouth. She all but hummed at the disappointed moan that slipped from her elven lover.

One slender hand crept its way up the centre of his stomach, a clever finger dancing across the lyrium markings that twisted there.

“Why did you stop?” Fenris rasped, his voice deliciously low.

Hawke’s brilliant irises wandered from his face, drifting across a torso that shimmered with delicate beads of sweat. “Because I wanted to hear you beg for me,” she murmured, bending to lave the thick vein of lyrium that pulsed across Fenris lower abdomen. She smiled against his slick skin. “I love it when you say my name.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, doing his best to school his features back into that typical brooding scowl. He was failing miserably, much to Hawke’s amusement. “Marian—”

The reward was almost instantaneous. That piercing blue gaze remained locked on his as she kissed the very tip of him, her tongue briefly flicking against his slit. Fenris tensed and hissed beneath her, his mouth falling open in an uncharacteristic display of awe.

“Every time,” Hawke murmured, kissing his sensitive flesh, “I tell you to say my name,” she paused to squeeze his thighs appreciatively, “I will reward you.”

Fenris couldn’t stop the rumble that welled up deep within his chest. It wasn’t often that Hawke chose to dominate him in the bedroom. She had said, after all, that she was only too happy to follow his lead in that department. But now that she was crouched over him, eyeing his body and stroking his shaft teasingly, Fenris couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t let her do this sooner. She had never hurt him, never disrespected his wishes. Being with Hawke was so different to any other experience he’d had as a slave. She _wanted_ him to enjoy it.

Certainly that part he didn’t seem to be having any issues with: his erection pulsed under her touch, every sweep of her fingers encouraging him to thicken and strain for her.

“And if I don’t?” He growled, fighting to maintain control over his urges. Fenris wanted nothing more than to grasp her by those devious little hands, pin her to the sheets and ravish her so thoroughly that Hawke wouldn’t be able to walk for a few days afterwards.

Marian seemed to have read his mind because she answered, “If you don’t,” she pulled away from him and pretended to move toward the bedroom door, “then I’ll have to leave you alone to _contemplate_ your actions.”

The elf shot upright, reaching after her pleadingly. “Marian!”

She folded her arms across her ample (and utterly bare) chest. “Marian _what?_ ”

“Marian—” Fenris shivered “—Marian _please._ ”

It was all she needed to hear. Hawke straddled Fenris’ legs and trailed her fingernails down his chest, eliciting a sharp gasp of want from her lover. A drop of sweat rolled down the cleft between his pectoral muscles, and Hawke’s tongue chased it. When she reached his length, she paused. “Fenris,” she murmured, dipping her head and tasting the precum that beaded on the tip, “Fenris say it again.”

He was only to happy to oblige. “Marian…”

She hummed with delight, taking his crown into the luscious wet heat of her mouth. Hawke bobbed her head and Fenris gasped, letting his own fall back as he cursed quietly at the ceiling. His hair was damp with perspiration, strands of gleaming silver plastered against glowing bronze skin.

“Again,” she whispered, blowing gently against him.

It was then that two calloused fingers gripped the tip of her chin, tilting her head back so she could look straight into those olive eyes. “Marian Hawke.”

Her eyes widened, and Fenris allowed Marian’s beautiful gaze to distract him momentarily. After all, the sun was nowhere near the horizon. And Fenris knew that he would enjoy every moment of bliss she could grant him.


	4. A Perfect View (Cullen x Trevelyan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaosfay said:  
> Delylah x Cullen, verbal, bondage, dominant, and hair.  
> #53, #121, #175, and #353 from [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

He was laughing - a dark, rich melody that flowed from lips that only moments before had been quirked in confusion.

Delylah  _loved_  hearing him laugh.

But there was one thing she loved even more than hearing the Commander of the Inquisition laugh - and that was knowing she could coerce him into doing just about anything.

Cullen tried to push himself up from where he lay tangled in the bed linen. But with his hands bound behind his back and his eyes covered with Delylah’s best silk sash, it was a near-impossible task. Though the movement did have a pleasant side effect. His warrior’s muscles flexed enticingly, a ripple of steel coursing beneath his golden flesh. He had been only too easy to coax between her sheets, and now there he lay, exposed for her and already painfully hard. The sheen of sweat on his temples only served to intensify the vision - and the Inquisitor was drinking it in appreciatively.

Delylah tapped a finger against her chin as she admired her handiwork.

Yes, he made for quite a perfect view.

“This is ridiculous,” Cullen laughed again, twisting his head from side to side searching her out. To no avail. “I assume you’re quite thoroughly enjoying yourself?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Trevelyan was sporting a wicked grin. It was a shame the Commander couldn’t see it.

Or see himself for that matter.

A few golden curls had worked themselves loose in their tousle moments before. Now as he struggled against his binds, Cullen’s hair had escaped it’s usual neat style to fall across his forehead in disarray - and  _Maker_  what a sight he made. That sculpted chest heaved, sucking in breaths and hitching every few moments, a careful pause on Cullen’s part. An attempt to narrow down her position perhaps? To her greater pleasure, Delylah noted the way his erection bobbed with each inhalation. Even in the shadows of evening, he was glorious to behold.

“When you said you had a game in mind for tonight…” Cullen smirked and shook his head, sending those wild curls bouncing, “I had no idea you were thinking of—”

“Bondage?” Delylah interrupted, stepping to the foot of her extravagant bed.

“Uh, well, yes.”

“Uncomfortable, Commander?”

He froze when she referred to him by his title. “No,” he answered cautiously, catching onto her scheme slowly, “but this would be a first.”

“Indeed?” Delylah’s lips curved into a crafty smile. “Well then, I am glad to be teaching  _you_  something for a change.”

Cullen’s brows arched above the hem of the crimson scarf. It was a subtle movement, one accompanied by a rapid wetting of his lower lip…

Delylah knew  _precisely_  what that tell meant. Cullen never wet his lower lip unless he was deeply aroused. It was a tiny indication, one that any other individual might miss. But after spending so many nights solely dedicated to discovering their individual and mutual pleasures, Trevelyan knew his tells. She could almost see the gooseflesh prickle on his bare skin, anticipation running rife through his body.

_That is exactly the reaction what I was hoping for._

She shed her velvet robes like a second skin, the lush fabric cascading to pool around her ankles, completely revealing her buxom physique. Firelight bathed her features in a warm glow, her feet soundlessly treading across the cool floor. She smirked - yet  _another_ view the Commander could not quite appreciate at this moment.

And yet, when the garment hit the floor, Cullen’s stomach tensed.

_He knows what I_ _’m doing._ Tossing her long red dreadlocks over her shoulder, Delylah rounded the bed, pausing when she was standing almost completely behind him. Soft hands reached out to smooth across his firm shoulders, fingertips pressing into his sinewy flesh appreciatively.

“Does it  _frustrate_  you?” She leaned down and whispered the words against his ear, watching as her hot puffs of breath made Cullen’s muscles clench again. “To know that I’m here, so close, and yet totally beyond your reach?”

An undecipherable moan tore from his throat. “What do you want me to say? I know how much you take pleasure in torturing me.”

She swung her bare leg over his hips then, settling astride of his lap and rocking against him so that he could feel her slickness against his skin. “Oh always,” Trevelyan whispered, leaning forward and capturing his lips heatedly. Except, instead of kissing him, she caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged.

Cullen huffed, his biceps flexing as his hands inadvertently went to reach for her waist. A sigh of frustration was music to Delylah’s ears. “Cruel minx,” he ground out, leaning in to try and kiss her, only to be foiled as she moved just beyond his reach once more.

No, Delylah had bigger plans in mind for him that night.

Sliding her fingers through those dishevelled curls, the Inquisitor surprised him by grasping the hair at the crown of his head and tugging. Cullen came forward with a muffled gasp, tilting his head up and back at her behest. To his credit, the man knew better than to struggle.

“Do you know what this cruel minx has planned for you, Commander?” Delylah grinned cunningly.

Cullen’s adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed around the words, “Whatever it is, if it’s coming from you I  _know_  I’ll enjoy it.”

Trevelyan chortled, shaking her head. The poor, adorable fool. He’d practically fallen straight into her trap, and now he was hers to torment until dawn. Doting on that thought, Delylah  suckled along his neck and then shoved him back onto the bed. Her nimble fingers reached down to grasp his shaft, the other trailed across his open lips - a silent promise.

“Oh how little you know…”


	5. Finally Home (Alistair x Mahariel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gaurdian9sunshine said:  
> Alistair x Lyna reunion sex  
> #217 from [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

“Never again.”

Lyna shivered as Alistair’s breath caressed the tip of her ear, cascading down her neck and fanning across her skin.

Those had been the exact words he had used - a plaintive summary of both their regrets, and of both their desires. The couple had escaped his royal entourage, instead seeking shelter at an inn. Nobody had thought to question them. After all, to strangers’ eyes, they looked like two weary travellers with their worn robes and dusty boots. Even when the innkeeper had warned they had no more rooms available, Alistair had insisted that the barn would suffice. Now, as they clung to each other in the privacy of their loft, he whispered those beautiful words in Lyna’s ear again.

_Never again._

The door had barely closed behind them before he drew her into his arms and began to ravish her quite thoroughly.

Mahariel let him hold her, kiss her as her outer vestiges fell away: the last of her layers, her protection, shielding him from who she truly was. No amount of fabric could truly disguise her. A hood might cover her ears and vallaslin; warden armour might shield her chest; but Alistair saw through to her heart despite it all. He knew her better than any of the other blighted Shems in Denerim. And yet her soul wept for the sacrifice he was making just to remain by her side. And it  _was_ a sacrifice. He had defied so many of his advisors just to find her, turned away a life of happiness with a human woman to be with her. Creators damn the wonderful fool — and bless him.

Now, as she moaned into his kiss, Lyna dared to look up at him through fluttering lashes.

Time had been kind to Alistair.  _Her Alistair,_ she dared to remind herself.

He was remarkably well-built and confident now — gone were the fumbles and blushes of youth. In their place stood a man, well schooled in the art of her desires, and only too patient and tender in rekindling their passion. Even as Alistair claimed her once more as his own, she had pulled back numerous times just to stare at him. Here, illuminated by the moonlight that seeped through the small window above, Alistair seemed angelic to Lyna’s weary eyes. Perhaps other women would find it foolish that she could be so fascinated by his face alone when she was being made love to by the King of Ferelden. But after years apart, she wanted nothing more than to trace the laughter lines that had formed around his beautiful eyes, to learn his lips with her own — as once they had done with such youthful eagerness. His russet hair had grown long since last she laid eyes upon him. Now that elegant chin was framed by delicate strands of gold, and graced with a fine, sandy beard. Even Alistair’s chest had only grown firmer and more defined with age.

Lyna sighed brokenly as they joined, flesh against flesh. Alistair pressed her down into the blankets that covered their makeshift bed of hay, his mouth leaving hers and trailing down her bare chest. His tongue explored her, wet and hot against her skin as he tenderly mapped each new scar, every line and mark. Lyna arched when he returned to her full bosom, his teeth scraping gently against one pebbled nipple. He doted lovingly on her breasts, each sweep of his tongue sending pulses of heat through her body.

Twining her slender fingers into his hair, Lyna bit her lower lip to stifle her moan. “Alistair…”

His fingertips slid down her spine in a featherlight caress, and Lyna shivered. He pressed a kiss first to her white-gold hair. Then, easing up on one elbow, he reached out and began to unfasten the braids that hung on either side of her long, radiant tresses.

Lyna’s turquoise eyes widened. It had been so long since anyone had been allowed to even see her hair, let alone touch it.

Alistair began by gently combing the strands with his fingers. Each touch was excruciatingly gentle, his expert fingers gently massaging her scalp between strokes. Then, with almost expert precision, Alistair let the freed hair fall away - and instead turned his attention to the delicate ears that peaked from between the silken strands. His lips closed about one pointed tip and Lyna keened, her alabaster hands clawing at the blankets on either side of her. A fire was being stoked within her such as she had not felt in a very long time, a fire that only one man could kindle.

“Oh yes, Alistair…”

Giving a small chuckle, he licked from the outermost tip of the shell down to her lobe, gently sucking it into his mouth. “Hrm, I seem to recall that you liked that. But just to be sure…”

Colours flashed across the elf’s vision, bells ringing in her head from the sheer pleasure of it. His mouth was searing in its velvet heat, and  _Creators_  if he kept nibbling at her then she was going to come from that alone.

Lyna let out a desperate whine and pushed him away, her pupils painfully dilated.

“I need you,” she whispered breathily, “Alistair, please.”

He rose until he was kneeling between her thighs. He slowly reached out and spread her knees further apart, pulling her down toward him until her hips were raised before him. It was then that Alistair smirked. Lyna couldn’t help but writhe when she saw that impish smile reemerge - that old sparkle in his eye that reminded her so vividly of the young man she’d fallen in love with. The young man who had learned her desires so enthusiastically… She had wondered then whether he would look equally dashing with age. As it would seem, Alistair had only grown more magnificent as he had matured, and  _mythal_ _’enaste_ , her body was aching for him now.

Her sex throbbed as Alistair traced it with one thick finger.

“Maker, Lyna,” he rasped, his honey eyes turning to molten heat. “You are more glorious than I remembered.”

She gasped, her hips bucking and chasing his touch. “Please!”

Alistair pulled away momentarily, hastily unlacing his breeches. Lyna moaned when his erection was finally freed. Her breath hitched when he began to stroke himself, his length pulsing in his hand. Already he was excruciatingly thick. All coherent thought fled from her mind as Alistair rose onto his knees, leaning over her and stroking his thrumming erection against her dripping sex.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Alistair’s hair draped about his chin, vaguely caressing her face as he dipped close to sweep his lips against hers. All the while his hands gently guided his length to her entrance, revellingin the slick her body had created in preparation for him.

“ _Ara haurasha, ah—!_ _”_ Lyna threw her head back when he finally breached her, her body throbbing deliciously around his girth.

Her mouth fell open in shock - he was  _incredibly_  thick, stretching her in an excruciating balance of tension and bliss. Panting, clinging to his arms blindly, Lyna rode out the first pulses. From the groans and muffled curses in her ear, she guessed Alistair was having an equally difficult time in trying not to lose himself too soon.

“Alistair?” Regaining her voice, the slender rogue slid her palms up his tense neck, prompting him with whispers, endearments, promises.

He turned his lips against her throat, hot breath coming fast. “You are going to destroy me…”

Then, Alistair rolled his hips just so, grinding down into her and burying himself even deeper. Lyna let out a muffled cry. The movement had his hips canting perfectly into hers, his abdomen catching on her clit and sending lightning up her spine.

It was a slow dance, a vague memory illuminated by a flame that burned and twisted as their flesh united. The lovers could hear and feel nothing beyond each other. Elvhen and common tongue whispers filled the small, warm loft. As their movements grew more frantic, the wooden floor beneath them began to creak gently, a muffled complaint that Alistair paid no heed to as he rocked against his lover.

She arched into him, begging, gasping. Every fibre of her being was  _singing_  for his touch, for his warmth.  _Alistair_ _… my Alistair. Ma’lath._

Her climax gripped her suddenly. Heat flashed through her core, a spiralling tension driving her to snake her thighs closer about his thrusting hips. Alistair moaned against her ear and that was all it took. Lyna let out a shattered scream, willingly abandoning herself to her orgasm. Fire roared through every vein; her lungs seemed to forget how to draw breath. His steel struck that spot that made her scream turn to ash on her tongue and it was all Lyna could do to hold on, to simply ride out the torrent of sensations until she fell back, spent.

Alistair drove into her harder when she finally reached her peak, angling her hips up further to strike deeper within her. Once, twice — he buried himself to the hilt and roared her name, throwing his head back in the heat of his pleasure. Lyna vaguely made out glistening rivulets of sweat twisting their way down his neck, that heaving chest, disappearing where they were joined. With one last moan, one last pump and jet of seed, Alistair’s strength gave out. He slumped down beside her on the blanket.

Coming to her senses slowly, Lyna inhaled and shivered at the heady scent of hay and sweat and sex. The coarse bedding beneath her prickled as she shifted, turning closer toward Alistair’s warmth. She watched as he recovered, his eyes closed and mouth hanging open while he sucked in ragged breaths. The elf couldn’t mask her smile at his pleasured glow. It had been too long since she had beheld him like this. One long, slender arm snaked out and clasped behind her man’s neck, pulling closer and tucking herself against his chest. Alistair murmured something against her tresses, kissing the damp strands reverently.

Lyna closed her eyes when the realisation hit her — she had finally come home.

Languidly stroking Alistair’s hair, kissing his glistening chest, Lyna whispered a prayer of thanks before the fog of sleep claimed them both. And for the first time in so many years, both grey wardens discovered peaceful oblivion.


	6. The Rules (Solas x Lavellan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaosfay said:  
> Ghanima x Solas, pain, biting, submissive Solas.  
> #250, #349 and #44 from [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

It was beneath him, to crawl for her. She knew not what she asked, nor of whom she asked it. And yet… Something deeper, something that _ached_ twisted in his gut when her lips curled around his name.

“Solas.”

He didn’t dare raise his eyes. She had ordered him not to do anything unless she expressly commanded it. Solas still was not entirely sure whether he had agreed to Lavellan’s conditions out of a sense of obligation or need…

“On your knees. Now.”

Ghanima stood proud and bare before him, smiling in satisfaction as her elvhen lover sank down on the stone floor in front of her. One slender hand extended and caressed Solas’ cheek, fingers curling around the shell of his ear tenderly. “Good.”

She stepped closer and Solas fought the urge to let his eyelids drift shut. Ghanima was so close now that he could smell her, even feel the heat radiating from her beautiful skin. He felt his belly clench a little as he allowed his thoughts to drift back to dreams of her writhing beneath him…

One slender, smooth knee hitched and came to rest on his naked shoulder, jolting him from his reverie.

“Solas look at me.”

He did as he was told, shivering as he gazed beyond her rounded hips and supple breasts, to a face that seemed to shine with anticipation.

“Kiss me,” Ghanima breathed, angling her hips forward for him.

Solas wondered at his own eagerness, his head bowing only too readily to accommodate her whim. Pressing his lips gently to her sex, he inhaled her feminine musk and moaned. He began with small kisses, light and fleeting across her sensitive flesh, pausing only to nuzzle at her folds when Ghanima began to sigh above him.

“More,” she managed to choke out before sliding her hands down his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and spurring him on.

Focusing on the sound, letting the pain drive him, Solas licked along her dewy folds and relished the thrill that shot through her. Those shapely thighs quivered, the knee over his shoulder tensing at the sensation. Another lick. A kiss and a gentle puff of hot breath. She gasped and Solas felt the evidence of her arousal come away slick on his lips.

It wasn’t enough.

That strong hand cupped his cheek once more, drawing him away from her and into the well of her gaze.

“Solas.”

He knew that tone - she wanted more.

Hands on his chest pushed him down onto the floor, Ghanima’s knees pinned him in place, her sex hovering above his chin.

“Again,” she whispered, biting her lip in anticipation.

Solas was nothing if not a proud scholar — he could not help the pride he felt at this moment, knowing how well he had learnt his lover. He dedicated himself to advancing his knowledge at every opportunity, and tonight was no exception. Her gasps and whimpers, the flexing of the muscles under his palms, all told him when he had heightened her pleasure. And, submissive or not, he would be damned if he would not hear her scream for him.

Ghanima’s whole body tensed when he worked his tongue into her, suckling at her lips and sending spasms of pleasure through every nerve. Solas barely restrained himself from groaning aloud when her juices trickled down his chin.

“Good… Harder!”

He obeyed, thrusting his tongue deeper and pushing up into her with his chin.

She gasped and drove her nails deeper into his shoulders. Solas tried not to let the pain show when she broke the skin.

 _Yes_ _… Deeper… Don’t stop! Ah, ma av’in_ …

Her admonitions hummed in his ears, his thoughts a hazy blur of ozone, sex and blood.

He knew when they began that she would hurt him. That this was only the beginning, that she had other plans for how she would torment him before the night ended. But somehow it only made him more aroused. Solas renewed his dedication, suckling at Lavellan’s clit until he could practically _taste_ her impending climax burning her from the inside out.

Ghanima rewarded him by dragging her nails down his forearms, trails of red following in their wake. Solas hissed at the sting.

“Nearly there…”

He made the mistake of staring up at her then, and Ghanima’s reaction was swift.

She arched up, pulling away from his questing lips, and turned her clawing violently upon his damp chest. He let out a pained yelp, his eyes tearing away in shame.

“Did I tell you that you could look?” She fumed.

“No Inquisitor.”

The redheaded elf smirked a little, and Solas shivered when he felt her nuzzle at his neck. “You know what the punishment is for disobeying me?”

He tensed. “Yes.”

Her lips swept across his jugular. Then she dealt him a swift bite, clamping down on his flesh relentlessly. Solas choked back a yell, his hands balling in agonized helplessness by his sides. She repeated this torture several times, first on the juncture of his neck, then on a nipple, until she’d paused just above the stiff length that strained uncomfortably against his abdomen. Pain shot through Solas in excruciating waves. He knew she was creating marks with her teeth, red welts that would be undoubtedly visible in the morning. His erection was screaming for attention by that point but without Ghanima’s permission he could not even relieve the tension himself. Precum was beading and rolling down his length, adding to the heady blend of pain and arousal that was coursing through his veins.

He sucked in a deep breath when she pulled away, a sly grin on her flushed lips.

 Ghanima was moving above him again, Solas realised, one hand easing down between her legs. The other remained braced on his stomach. She was touching herself, arching into her own touch and leaving him painfully unattended.

“Watch,” she commanded.

He obeyed, struggling not to move even as her fingers slipped along her folds and into the wet, tight heat he craved. From this angle his view was unobstructed, her labia spread shamelessly open as her digits worked to bring her to completion. A moan must have escaped him because Ghanima stopped, twisting her other hand against his neck.

“Be silent. Do not look away. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes _what_?”

“Yes… Inquisitor.”

“Good, _ma av_ _’in_.”

Ghanima returned to her self pleasuring, her hooded eyes barely masking her hunger. She rode her own fingers before his eyes and he was utterly powerless to stop her. It was almost too much — almost. Solas clung to his last few shreds of dignity, trying desperately to keep a hold of himself lest he spend himself before she gave him permission…

 _If_ she gave him permission.

But when Ghanima came, with a cry of bliss and an exquisite shudder, Solas couldn’t stop himself. His shaft pulsed in warning and released, hot spurts of seed coming hard against his stomach and her back. His orgasm was so strong that his entire vision turned white, then black, and then a myriad of colours. All the while, that image of her convulsing above him remained, tormenting him with her presence and her absence.

Ghanima had stopped rocking by the time Solas came back to his senses. She was breathing hard, and to his vexation, studying him with a mixture of disappointment and amazement.

“Obviously the pain was not quite enough,” she observed, wetting her lower lip.

Solas huffed, suddenly aware of the cold stone biting into his back. “You are a cruel woman.”

“Clearly not cruel enough.”

She moved off him then, stepping away with surprising ease after such an intense orgasm. Her knees shook, moisture shining against her skin. Solas rose to follow, but Ghanima pressed him back down onto the floor with one foot.

“No, no,” she tutted, arching a brow contemptuously. “You didn’t obey the rules.” For a moment Ghanima seemed to consider leaving him there to sleep in discomfort against the stone, but then, a scheming glint appeared in her eyes. A smile crept across those pleasure-flushed cheeks and she seemed to relent. “But I may be… _Willing_ to reconsider the rules if you pump some water and bathe me clean.”

Solas may have still been weak at the knees, but he scrambled to his feet instantly at the thought of appeasing her. “As you say, _Inquisitor._ ”


	7. Of Kisses and Solitude (Cullen x Trevelyan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anotherdayforchaosfay said:  
> Delylah x Cullen, making out, seduction
> 
> #206 and #303 from [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

She groaned needily. A surge of _want_ coursed through her, driving her to roll her hips against her lover’s. Somewhere through the fog of pleasure Trevelyan heard Cullen moan her name. Strong fingers clutched at her hips, pulling her against him and thrusting his still-clothed body against hers.

“But _here_?” Delylah’s eyes flashed open, sweeping the courtyard with a cursory glance. She let out an impatient huff at the man grinding against her — his presence a rather insistent impairment to her attempt at diligence.

“Unless you’d prefer to make a long, cold trek across the keep to my office,” he returned, kissing her neck and making her gasp, “then yes. Here.”

The Inquisitor bit her lip to stifle the heavy sighs that were tumbling from her. He was _intoxicating_. “I thought you preferred nobody saw us this way...?”

Cullen did stop then. The Commander loomed over her, pulling away just far enough for her to see _that_ grin — the one that made her knees tremble. “And I thought you wanted me to surprise you.”

“Surprise me… y-yes.” Delylah’s voice came out sounding oddly high-pitched and she put a hand to her throat, flustered. “But I didn’t think that surprise would include making out with me in plain view of the whole keep.”

“And just how big is our audience exactly?”

She arched up on tip-toe, peering over his shoulders. “Uh… well there is the night watch—”

“Delylah, it’s two in the morning.”

She persisted, “It is their job to _watch out for unusual activity_!”

Cullen sighed wearily. One hand fell from her corset-cinched waist, coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose where those brows wrinkled so adorably. “What happened to ‘the thrill of anticipation’? The ‘suspense of the unknown’…?”

“That was before you took me by surprise in the gatehouse.” She arched a brow at him knowingly. “When I said ‘seduce me when I least expect it’ I wasn’t expecting to be in the shadows of Skyhold’s draw bridge.”

“You also protested about the cellar.”

“Well it was _cold_.” Delylah pouted comically and folded her arms. “Now are you going to seduce me properly—?”

A choked laugh escaped him then. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this. Next time, I’m just going to ask for a list of acceptable locations.”

She swatted him playfully on the head, chuckling quietly when those wild blond curls tumbled out of place. “Why Commander, I don’t believe it’s considered good form to sass your Inquisitor.”

“Since I don’t exactly plan to be in _‘good form’_ tonight…” he winked at her and Delylah’s mouth went dry.

That is, until two strong arms suddenly looped around her thighs and tossed her into the air. Trevelyan let out a muffled yelp, the wind knocked from her even as she hung limp over Cullen’s broad, armoured shoulder.

“Commander!”  She hissed furiously, pummelling his fur mantle when he stepped out from the shadows of the tower. “Cullen Rutherford, you put me down! Put me down _now,_ do you hear me?”

“What, and have you complain about my choice of location again?” He shook his head. “Not this time. Now I suggest you be silent or you’ll wake the keep.”

“Cullen!”

He simply smirked and whistled to himself.

Delylah’s cheeks burned from combined mortification and the rush of blood that was now being sent straight to her head.

Surely he wouldn’t walk the _whole_ of Skyhold with her slung over his shoulder?

Unfortunately for her, that’s exactly what he intended to do.

Cullen sauntered past the night watch, up the stairs, and straight past the Herald’s Rest. Delylah muttered and kicked, whispering threats the whole way. The stairs to his tower were slightly more difficult to navigate. The extra weight was producing a faint sheen of sweat on Cullen’s brow by this point but he was determined. He had a point to prove. And Delylah was not making it any easier on him.

Finally he set her down outside the door to that abandoned room — the one the workers had simply never gotten around to repairing. Delylah took her chance and made a lunge for his office door but he caught her mid-step.

“What is it with you and odd locations?” She fumed, glaring up at him from beneath mussed dreadlocks.

 _“You_ need to be more spontaneous.”

Delylah huffed as he hemmed her in, backing her into the semi-lit room. “Only if you make it up to me.”

The door creaked shut behind him and suddenly Cullen was on her, his arms wrapping about her waist and drawing her firmly against him. “Deal.”

Their lips crashed together, restraint broken at last. The musk of Cullen’s scent — tinged with leather and a hint of metal — was only intensified by the powerful aroma of musty aged wood. It made for a heady concoction. Delylah’s lust-dazed senses danced, enraptured, captivated. Fingers curled through his locks, wandered down to toy with that bear fur mantle that made Cullen seem so imposing. Her lips tingled as he claimed them so entirely, recklessly. The tiny murmurs he made against her, the slide of his tongue across her exposed lower lip; every sound and touch was only making her more desperate for him.

Cullen broke their kiss and she whimpered at his absence. Until his mouth wandered to her neck. Delylah’s eyelashes fluttered, her knees buckling. Warm, commanding lips explored her sensitive skin, peppering kisses as they went. Now, as Cullen reached her collarbone, he paused and grazed his teeth against the curve of her throat. Delylah’s body arched involuntarily, a barely stifled moan escaping through reddened lips. That only seemed to spur him on. Before she could collect her scattered thoughts, Cullen’s mouth angled over hers once more. Delylah felt giddy, as though the man plundering her lips was also stealing the breath from her very lungs. She moaned, relishing in the returned sigh, the deep rumble of need low in his chest…

…The skitter of tiny feet against the flagstones.

Delylah jumped, her finely-tuned reflexes kicking in before she could stop them. Somewhere through the fog of adrenaline she felt her elbow collide with something soft. This made the man beside her splutter rather loudly before another skitter sounded, and Delylah practically leaped out of the way. A tiny bundle of fur bolted across the stones and out under the rickety old door. But it was too late. Delylah had already crashed into Cullen and for a moment the pair teetered. Then the world around them spun and down they came — Delylah’s weight sending Cullen down onto the floor, hard, and leaving her sprawled out on top of him.

He wheezed and spluttered, his eyes blinking up at the ceiling in shock.

“Maker’s breath!” Delylah exclaimed, scrambling to kneel with her legs on either side of his winded chest. She gingerly cupped his face in her hands. “Cullen I’m so sorry!”

The warrior’s brow twitched. After a moment he rasped, “Did you just jump me because of a _mouse_?”

“I said I was sorry,” she muttered, her palm falling from his cheek.

The Commander burst out with a dark laugh and pulled her fingers back to his lips. “Actually,” he managed to speak a little clearer now, “I rather like this position.”

The Inquisitor blushed indignantly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re adorable.”

Delylah rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the pleasured moan when Cullen drew her back down into another heated kiss.

And _this_ time, nothing interrupted them.


	8. Sonnets at Midnight (Blackwall x Josephine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chaosfay said:  
> Josephine x Blackwall, tender, verbal, accidental marks  
> #165, #353 and #227 on the [the Kink Prompt](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com/post/119653570557/the-kink-prompt).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains vague spoilers for Blackwall's personal quest in DAI. So if you're not familiar with his story (yet) then feel free to skip this chapter! =)

“Would you care for me to read it again, my lady?”

Josephine’s hands immediately dropped from where they had been propped beneath her chin. She blinked, rousing herself from a faraway stare. “What—oh! Well,” a faint tint of blush seemed to creep across her cheeks then, “Yes! I mean, no… Or…” She faltered, her dreamy glow morphing into a smile that sent a tingle down her companion’s spine. “Yes, yes it seems I would. Well that is if it doesn’t inconvenience you at all?”

The pair were seated on a plush sofa, hidden away in the far corner of Skyhold’s very deserted library. The sound of lutes and the falls of exuberant feet drifted through the open-air rotunda to reach them now as they sat squirrelled away from the festivities below. It had taken a great deal of coaxing on Blackwall’s part to lure the diplomat away from the celebration. She had been intent on overseeing every detail. From the Orlesian bards to the Dalish storyteller; the cooking staff to the finely-garbed footmen; the silent-footed servants to the ostentatious guests themselves. For she had counted it as her utmost responsibility to ensure that the Inquisitor’s wedding - the grandest event of the year - was as glorious as it was anticipated to be. But now, as the happy couple had departed at last for their honeymoon and the festivities had turned to drunken revelling, Josephine found that she was only too happy to be led away to their cloistered hiding place among the bookshelves. Especially by the man whom had been brave enough to try for her heart.

Blackwall chuckled - a deep throaty sound - from where he sat comfortably at the other end of the sofa. Firelight bounced off his grey eyes, even as his gaze drifted once more to the lovely woman before him. “Inconvenience?” A shiver rolled up Josephine’s spine at his heavenly accent. “How could I call _you_ an inconvenience?”

The Antivan diplomat coloured fiercely, her sparkling, rum-coloured eyes darting away hurriedly. Suddenly she was desperate to stare anywherebut his face. “Sweet talker.”

The broad-shouldered Grey Warden shook his head slightly and turned the book back to the chosen page. “Now, where did the sonnet begin…?”

“Right here,” Josephine blurted out a little too eagerly. In her haste she leaned over and slid her finger down the page — to brush against the back of Blackwall’s calloused hand.

An uneasy pause followed, the diplomat realising her mistake far too late to reverse it. But she couldn’t repress a shiver when Blackwall gently turned his palm instead to clasp her shaking fingers.

“You don’t have to—” Josephine let out a surprised squeak, the presence of one warm finger against her lips stifling her flurried words.

Blackwall had shifted so close that she could feel the warmth of his body radiating through his clothing. Staring up at him through a veil of thick, dark lashes, she felt her pulse quicken. In this light, with nothing but the tender glow of the flames against his form, the gentle intensity in his gaze made her want to dissolve.

“Don’t have to what?” Blackwall queried softly, stroking his thumb across her trembling lower lip.

“Don’t have to… To read it… if…” The normally eloquent diplomat grimaced at her own fumble. But she didn’t have too much time to contemplate her mistake, for moments later she felt the cool of a shadow being cast over her, the sweep of coarse hair against her tingling skin — and the ever-so-gentle brush of another mouth against her half-open lips.

The kiss was barely-there, fleeting, and yet…

Josephine pulled away with a jolt, her hands shaking uncontrollably now. His gaze only seemed to follow her. _Maker_ , but she couldn’t bear the determination she saw lingering there.

Mulling over her choice of words suddenly didn’t seem like such a pressing priority. Instead, Josephine found that she _wanted_ to lean forward, that her gaze _wanted_ to wander back to those shining grey eyes; that she most definitely longed to taste his gentle lips again. She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t _want_ to even try and stop. Her hands moved of their own accord, winding around his neck and welcoming Thom’s warm embrace.

The warrior cupped her cheeks gently in his palms, and Josephine couldn’t quite stifle the sigh that escaped her parted lips. He was so caring, so concerned; every move was calculated and gentle. Josephine felt as though the giant of a man looming over her had just scooped her up whole in his trembling, calloused hands, caressing her as though she was a rare bloom – a priceless treasure. The sheer sensuality of his touch already reduced her to quivering in his arms. Josephine clung tightly to him, winding her fingers through Rainier’s beard, striking along his chin and winding up into his hair. For several moments the pair simply remained wrapped in each other, staring, smiling, sharing heated breaths between lips that tingled, wanted. Then another kiss – this time slower, deeper.

If Josephine had been told a year ago that she would be in Thom’s arms tonight, on the eve of Arida and Cullen’s wedding, she would have been terrified. Blackwall’s deception had taken Skyhold by surprise and had resulted in more than a few nights of questioning on her part. She had loved him for so long, never daring to say a word. But when Inquisitor Lavellan had pardoned him, Josephine realised that Arida must have seen something in him she trusted. And Josephine valued her friend’s judgement. With Arida’s blessing, she had dared to allow herself to develop an attachment to him – and now she was grateful she had. Thom was a very different man to what she had feared he would be. He possessed the body of a warrior hardened by grief and betrayal, but the heart of a man who was seeking forgiveness in the only way he knew how.

And somehow, Josephine had only fallen deeper in love with him.

She sighed into his kiss, lying back against the cushions of the couch and moaning when he eased down to rest his arms on either side of her. Thom pulled away for a moment to stare down at her adoringly, running his fingers down the side of her face to capture a stray ringlet.

“You are magnificent tonight, my lady,” he murmured, nuzzling against her cheek.

Josephine couldn’t quite hide the smile that tugged at her mouth. “So you admit that you enjoyed the ball?”

“Only because of you.” Thom laid kisses across her jaw, but even from this angle Josephine could see he was contemplating moving down toward the unusually-low neckline of her evening gown. He paused, battling with himself silently.

_Always the Knight; ever the gentleman._

Josephine raised his face so that he could see the anticipation on her face, nodding in consent.

An anticipation fraught pause followed. Then he touched her — fingers grazing the curve of her bodice, sending tingles up her spine even through her corset. The man once known as Blackwall, the one she’d dared to love, was hers at last. Josephine sighed as he bent to kiss her chest, warm breath against her skin. Those hands wandered down over her hips and she trembled. His touch was sparking something unfamiliar, and yet oh how she wanted to _chase_ that feeling!

“Oh touch me,” she whispered, encouraging him by stroking his hair tenderly.

One warm palm reached down to lift her ankle and slide her court shoe from her delicate foot. Thom’s beard tickled at her skin, a kiss pressed against her knee, hands shifting ever upward beneath her skirts. He paused at her inner thigh, suckling at the skin bared there.

Josephine gasped, stifling the sound by turning her head into the cushions of the sofa.

 _Maker_ but what was happening to her? It felt as though every nerve on her body was on fire, burning and writhing, ready to burst through her skin and engulf her in flames of need.

Her lover smiled at her then, grey eyes glinting above a bundle of silken skirts. “My lady, may I…?”

Heat flashed across her eyes again at the realisation — and to her amazement, Josephine found herself nodding. Already she was speechless with excitement. Thom knew she had never been with anyone before now, that she was still so new to all of this. But oh the _sensations_ he aroused in her! Her legs felt eerily hot, trembling despite the exposure. Then she felt fingers graze her smalls and she couldn’t stop the loud gasp that tore from her lips.

Rainier paused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no!” Josie pushed herself up on her elbows, dark ringlets falling across her cheek in disarray. She reached out to cup his cheek. “Not at all,” she breathed, amazed at the huskiness of her own voice. “Please… Don’t stop now.”

The man between her legs smiled and warmth flooded her. Then his head lowered once more, fingers tugging her smalls down her thighs — and Josie was lost.

The first brush of his lips against her centre had her gasping for air, fingers curling against his scalp against the onslaught of euphoria. She was utterly disoriented. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling above her but unseeing. How long she had dreamt of this! Nights alone forgotten, Josie whimpered and let herself be carried away by the sweep of his tongue, the pressure of those wonderfully trained fingers as they slipped past her entrance and curled deep within her. Josephine keened as he slowly stretched her. Discomfort faded into pleasure and now her core ached for more, her clit throbbing from the torment he was unleashing upon her.

Sweet, blissful torment.

She barely knew what to do with her own hands. They fisted in her skirts, tugged lightly at Thom’s hair, grazed down the back of his neck, clawed at the cushions on either side of her. She was powerless and somehow it only heightened her pleasure. He was a fast learner, Josie noted. Thom paused every so often to test her resolve, to touch her in some new way that had her mewling and arching into him. And, much to her growing frustration, he knew _just_ how to play upon those whimpers. Before long Josephine was writhing, desperately chasing fulfilment.

“Please!” She gasped, already close to the chasm. “Please, I can’t take this much longer!”

Thom pulled away. His beard tickled against her thigh as he kissed her there, then sat up and tugged his belt loose. “Anything for you,” he bent and whispered in her ear, “my glorious Lady Montilyet.”

Josie’s eyes fluttered, her hips rolling involuntarily against his partially-laced breeches. “Thom—”

A few moments later and he freed himself from his trousers, their bodies meeting in the most intimate of ways. Josephine was barely coherent by this point. Her lips fell open in wordless admonition at each grind of his length against her slickness.

But the torture could only last for so long.

Thom finally gave in, parting her dewy folds with his fingers. His voice came low against her ear, whispering beguiling promises of tenderness and passion.

When the first breach came, Josie’s vision turned hazy, a gush of arousal welcoming him within her. The Antivan beauty shuddered — she was being stretched in the most exquisite way, her body blazing with want as it slowly accepted him. Thom sank into her with a deep moan and she looked up. His head was bent forward almost against her chest, his broad, velvet-clad shoulders heaving at the effort it took to restrain himself. Her heart leaped. Whether from need or from compassion, Josie could not quite tell. All she knew at that moment was that she wanted him to _possess_ her.

“Thom…” She whispered. “Please.”

“Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head, biting her lip as her walls fluttered around his girth.

Relieved, Thom leaned in to kiss her deeply — and began to move.

Josephine moaned as he withdrew, then slid back home. He was exquisitely thick, each surge of his body against hers drawing heartfelt groans from her throat.

Thom palmed one breast through her corset. “Save me… What did I do to deserve such perfection?”

She had already been so close from his touch. But the combination of Thom’s dusky voice and his fullness was driving Josephine to the brink, her voice swelling with need with every plunging stroke.

“Josephine,” Thom crooned her name in her ear, cupping her breast and teasing her nipples through the fabric. “My lady Montilyet…”

Her senses were utterly tantalised. Josephine’s knees buckled even as she sought her own satisfaction, rubbing her sex against him urgently. “Yes…” she panted out over and over, his name falling from her lips like a blessing, a prayer.

Josephine unravelled suddenly: her fingers clawed at the sofa, gorging against the cushions in one last desperate attempt at restraint. Rocking in the midst of feverish pleasure, she was barely aware of the shameless cries that now rang through the library. Her body liquefied around him. Molten lust coursed from her core and into every vein, that yearning fire flashing and claiming her utterly. White heat dragged her down over that ledge at last. Josie whimpered as it took her, tumbling all-too eagerly into the throes of her searing orgasm. All she knew was the sweat that pressed damp between their entangled limbs, the slickness that coated her exposed skin, the thrill of Thom’s release as he came hard within her. And then her own climax only seemed to renew.

It seemed to last for minutes, that endless wave of ecstasy rolling over her again and again until she sagged limp against the couch. Now as Josephine basked in the afterglow, she heard Thom let out a weak groan. He was still shivering against the last paroxysms of his completion. Then he sank down onto the couch, sliding from her and eliciting a remorseful shiver from his lover.

Josephine turned, a lazy smile dancing across her glowing cheeks. She could quite happily ignore the moisture that trickled down the inside of her legs — the satiated ache that currently lingered there was far more soothing. Shifting, she let her skirts fall down before she curled up at Rainier’s side. Her hands slid down to the nape of his hair and suddenly Thom flinched.

Alarmed, Josie sat up. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” urging him to roll onto his stomach, Josie flinched when she saw long, red trails down the back of his neck. “Maker, I… I am so sorry. I didn’t realise I was driving my nails so hard!”

Thom gave a low, deep chuckle. “I think I’ll live.”

Josephine was horrified at herself. The marks were painfully obvious, even beneath the collar of his dress uniform. “I can find a balm for them? Perhaps that will help ease—”

Suddenly two strong hands wrapped about her own, pulling her trembling fingers down to his lips. “Be at ease, my lady. I assure you, I am not hurt.”

Josie allowed him to draw her back into his warm embrace. Their kisses were less frenzied now, the spell of their lovemaking lulling them into a silvery daze of gentle intimacy and fulfilment. Josephine revelled in his presence. Tangling her legs and skirts with his, she breathed in his scent and the aroma of sex that still hung in the air.

“We can always read that sonnet again.” She nestled her head against his bearded chin. “Somewhere quieter perhaps?”

He pulled her close and kissed her soundly, murmuring against her lips, “You only need ask it of me, my lady. Anything I have to offer is yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never written for Blackwall x Josie before, so this was quite a challenge (but these two just won my heart so I might end up writing more eventually). A big thank you to everyone who has been reading, leaving kudos and comments! You guys are the reason I write and I truly appreciate that you took the time to let me know what you thought. And as always, I'd love to hear from you, so please leave kudos or, if you have a request of your own, shoot it over to me on [Tumblr](http://reellifejaneway2.tumblr.com).!


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